


White Oblivion

by Afuu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 18:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17730497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afuu/pseuds/Afuu
Summary: Now there was no pain, just numbness. Utter numbness and a consuming urge to just...sleep. So he closed his eyes.





	White Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> I find myself having trouble coming up with ideas for oneshots because all my ideas turn into something more that can't be told in one chapter. I have another story going (Harry/Tom Riddle slash pairing) that was supposed to be a oneshot. It's now 101 pages long and over 45K words. So much for that.

White Oblivion

 

Harry lay in the snow, staring into the bright light reflecting beautifully on the blustering snow. He had tried so far but all he could remember was the pain. Pain and darkness and white. Now there was no pain, just numbness. Utter numbness and a consuming urge to just...sleep. So he closed his eyes.

 

Harry woke to his aunt and uncle having a noisy whispering argument downstairs. He could tell they were trying to be silent about it, but he could easily catch the odd word from his ramshackle bedroom. Things in Petunia’s shrill voice saying, “Dumbledore...promise...trouble...kid...away...” And Vernon’s cantankerous grunting, “Don’t care...burden...expensive...waste...away...final...”

Harry knew they were discussing him once again. This was the fourth day in a row he’d woken up to their bickering. The fighting had started a week after Vernon had been fired for assaulting a lower-level worker. Since then, Vernon had been extremely foul-tempered and Harry had done his best to stay out of the man’s way.

Things were strained between them during the day. Dudley was oblivious to the tenseness and the agitation between his parent, just complaining he didn’t have enough of this or that. They put on their fake pampering expressions to distract him while Petunia glared at Vernon when Dudley was not looking. Vernon gave her an unrelenting glower and stomped off.

Now though, whatever they’d been quarrelling about seemed to have reached its end. Harry could hear the finality in Vernon’s tone and Petunia’s subdued agreeing tone. Something would happen today, what Harry thought it would be, he had no idea. The two always made sure to keep their arguments away from his ear. The one time he’d tried to sneak down to eavesdrop, they had caught him. Vernon had grabbed him and bodily thrown him up the stairs.

Harry rubbed his bruised and cut chin in remembrance, his bitten-through tongue throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Since then, drinking and eating had been quite painful.

Before he could ponder further, he was called down angrily but Vernon to start their breakfast.

Harry quickly got out of bed after grabbing his bent glasses and made his way downstairs. When he entered the kitchen, Petunia was sitting at the kitchen table with her dull brown eyes down, studiously avoiding looking anywhere near Harry. Petunia had always been good at ignoring Harry, but this was something different. She wasn’t just ignoring him; she was avoiding him.

Vernon was stood impatiently by the backdoor, staring out at the light snow building up in the yard. He was also momentarily ignoring Harry though he was doing it to push back the anger that was keeping his face that familiar puce colour. Vernon caught Harry’s observation of him as he turned his head and snapped out, small piggy eyes narrowed.

“What are you staring at, you brat?” he snarled. “You’re to make our breakfasts, not daydream.”

His sudden, barking voice startled Harry, and he rushed to the stove to begin cooking the bacon, eggs, sausages, toast, and oatmeal all at once. A task that would have many floundering and failing, but Harry had been trained to do it since he could reach the stove and had quickly learned. Harry was quite good at multi-tasking thanks to this.

Harry was just finishing the bacon when Vernon slammed his hand against the tabletop in the dining room startled him.

“No!” the man thundered. “I will not hear a word against this! I will do it whether or not you want it!”

A loud slap and Petunia’s shriek of pain followed the bellow. Harry raced to the dining room and saw a heavily panting Vernon standing threateningly over a recoiling Petunia. Her brown eyes stared up at her husband in shocked betrayal.

Vernon had never laid a hand on his wife or son before. He had always taken on a more heavy-handed role in delivering Harry punishments but Harry was just as startled as Petunia was that he had laid a hand on her. Harry was not terribly fond of his aunt but that didn’t mean that he would stand by as her husband threatened and harmed her.

Rushing over, Harry used his whole meager weight to shove Vernon away from Petunia.

“You leave her alone!” Harry yelled, rolling his aching shoulder. Vernon had been about as hard to move as Harry had thought he would be.

Petunia’s betrayed expression quickly snapped over to Harry, staring at him in bewildered confusion. Despite her treatment of him all these years, her nephew was willing to put himself in the line of fire with Vernon to stick up for her.

Vernon recovered from his stuttered stumbling quickly and slowly turned to Harry. Gulping at the murderous expression on the man’s face, Harry took a step back. 

“You,” the man whispered. Harry had no time to react before a large meaty fist connected with his stomach. He was thrown off his feet, grabbing the tablecloth on his way down. Luckily nothing fell, but the loud clattering of shifting cutlery echoed through the house. “You dare lay a hand on me and tell me how to deal with my family!”

The man charged forward and grabbed Harry roughly by his messy hair. Letting out a pained crying, Harry’s thin fingers came up to loosen the pulling grasp on his hair. 

“Vernon,” Petunia tried quietly, standing up and delicately approaching her irate husband. She was ignored.

Harry continued to struggle in his uncle’s vicious tugging. He tried to stand but his stomach protested any attempt to straighten it. 

“Mum! Dad!” Dudley called gleefully from the kitchen. It was a tone Harry knew well, he was about to be blamed for something. “Harry’s burnt the bacon! Breakfast is ruined now!” he called with a feigned whine.

Harry’s head was painfully pulled up until he was looking up into Vernon’s raging blue eyes.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he said and the last thing Harry saw was that same large fist careening toward his head. A moment later, pain exploded and everything went black.

 

Harry was vaguely aware of being dragged slowly along something very cold and wet. The surrounding air was terribly cold, and he muttered something about a jacket. He opened his eyes slightly, trying to understand what was happening. He had to close them again when nothing but white was see around him. His head thumped painfully in time with his heart. Breathing was hard with the bitter cold invading his gasping lungs. He gave up trying to understand and drifted back to unconsciousness.

 

Rhythmic bumps beneath him slowly brought him back to awareness. The sound of an engine rumbled lowly in his ears. Taking a few moments to calm the spinning despite his closed eyes, Harry creaked an eye open and saw he was in the back seat of Vernon’s work vehicle.

Laying down, curled into himself, Harry felt no seat belt wrapped around him to keep him safe. He sluggishly took stock of his condition. 

His clothing was soaked through. He vaguely remembered being dragged on something cold and wet. His stomach was nauseous from the pain thrumming through his lower torso and the left side of his head. A hand slowly made its way to his stomach to gently prod it. He couldn’t help the small moan that escaped his lips. A low chuckle from the driver seat reminded him he wasn’t alone.

“Finally awake are you, you lazy sod?” Vernon questioned loudly. “Took your sweet time.”

Harry whimpered as the loud voice echoed through his hammering head. Vernon smirked evilly into the rear-view mirror at Harry’s tortured expression. Harry's hand carefully came up to touch his head only to pull away and gasp, tears in his eyes, when Vernon purposely swerved the car, causing him to bash his prodding fingers into the most pained area.

Stars in his eyes, Harry clenched his eyes closed, gasping at the pain in his head. The whole back of the car was spinning violently and Vernon’s purposeful jerky swerving wasn’t helping. Harry quickly lost his fight to stay conscious.

 

The next time Harry woke, he found himself wedged stiffly between the back seats and the front seats. The position was torture on his cramping stomach and he weakly tried to push himself back onto the back seats. He took him several tries, his arms too shaky and weak. Harry was about to give up, body exhausted, but gave that last bit of energy and finally managed to shove himself back into the seats. 

Harry’s realized that the sound of the engine was absent and there was no rumbling beneath him. Slowly and painfully, he pushed himself up weakly with shaking arms. Shifting his legs beneath him, Harry curled into himself once he got into a seated position. Carefully raising his head as far as he dared, Harry shifted his eyes to the front and saw Vernon was absent. Looking to his left, all Harry saw was white. It was snowing viciously and Harry could only just barely see the darkness beyond. Because of the heavy clouds that were undoubtedly overhead, Harry was unsure what time it was. If he had to guess, he would say it was mid to late afternoon.

Harry had no idea how long ago Vernon had left the car but he was glad for the silence. The only sounds he could hear were his own shallow breaths and the gusting wind outside the frosting windows. The cold was already seeping in the closed windows as the warmth from the heater was fading quickly. Harry shivered lightly as the cold drifted through his threadbare clothing. He carefully curled further into himself for warmth.

He was just starting to doze when the front door was pulled roughly open and the entire vehicle shifted when Vernon sat heavily in it. He grumbled drunkenly when he noticed Harry was awake through the rear view mirror. He brushed the collection of snow off his expensive down-stuffed coat.

“Finally awake,” he slurred as he started the engine and pulled out of wherever they had stopped. “Useless bra’.”

“Uncle Vernon,” Harry said, keeping his tone quiet and respectful. “W-where are we?”

“Who knows,” the man grunted, words garbled together in some places. “W-way out in the coun’ry, pr’bably.”

Harry gulped at the information. He was stuck in the middle of nowhere, injured, in whiteout conditions, with a drunk Vernon behind the wheel. Even with the headlights on, they could hardly see two feet in front of them through the frigid winds and the dying daylight.

Harry could feel the tires spinning uselessly against the icy roads. Vernon was able to get back on track without crashing them several times. The constant veering and snowy ridges were making him increasingly nauseous.

Vernon jerked the wheel violently when they once again swerved causing Harry’s head to bounce painfully off the cold window. He let out a weak cry and his stomach finally gave in. 

He bent over and heaved up everything he had eaten the previous day. A cold sweat broke out over his body, stomach palpitating with every heave. When his body finally slowed down, head thrumming painfully and vision spinning, tears streaming down his pale cheeks, his gut gave another violent jump and he found himself expelling bile.

He barely registered Vernon’s grabbing hands and his loud yelling, so weak and shaky from the effort of emptying his stomach. He closed his eyes, trying anything to stop the spinning. Suddenly, the car gave an enormous jerk to the right and Harry’s body floated off the seat, head hitting the ceiling, before the feeling of falling spread through his body. He only had a moment to panic before he slammed back down onto the seat with a short cry. He was thrown violently side to side at the rear doors before finally being thrown forward and everything came to a stop. Darkness and cold spread through the car’s interior as Harry lost consciousness.

 

The first thing Harry knew was the pain. The pain and the cold. His arms throbbed, left arm hot and painful. His neck and shoulders thumped painfully, and he could not turn his head without gasping in a pained breath. His legs were numb and tingling from the cold, terribly bruised. 

His forehead was cut deeply, blood dripping down the front of his bent head and into his eyes and mouth. Several fingers stuck out at odd angles, bruised and swollen. His stomach hurt terribly, a sharp pain spreading through his entire torso. Harry recognized the feeling as badly broken ribs. His entire body was shivering, the wind making its way through the shattered passenger windows.

Trying to move himself, Harry let out a weak whimper and instantly stilled himself.

“Uncle Vernon,” Harry whispered into the wind, seeing Vernon’s jacket in the corner of his eye. He lethargically moved his hand and jabbed his finger in his uncle’s side. Straining his ears, Harry listened for a groan, anything over the wind. Silence.

Panicking slightly, Harry tried to move himself again. Biting his lip until it bled, Harry got himself back into the front passenger seat. Harry sat still for several minutes, regain his equilibrium as best he could and trying to clear his fogged head.

He slowly turned his body bit by bit until he could see Vernon. He was unnaturally still. Harry shifted closer to him and saw that a large branch was jutting through the front window. The followed the branch’s path with dull eyes and saw it was impaling Vernon straight through his chest, out his back and through the driver’s seat. It came to a pointed edge and was poking into the back seat where he had been sitting previously.

“Uncle Vernon,” Harry tried again, slowly becoming desperate as his situation sunk in. He reached out painfully and shook his uncle’s arm. There was no response. His uncle’s body was stiff and immovable, held in place by the branch.

Whimpering, Harry shifted to look around. He could see nothing beyond the snow howling outside. The car was buried in at least 3 feet of snow, the wind already blowing much of it in the vehicle. Harry shivered violently as a powerful gust of wind rocked the car.

Harry leaned over with shaking hands and slowly attempted to remove the coat from the body. Like his body, the branch held Vernon’s coat in place and Harry let out a weak and desperate cry. 

He pulled feebly at the jacket until he remembered his uncle once telling his aunt to always carry a knife on her in case some hooligan tried to mug her. Hoping he followed his own advice, Harry shakily searched. Finally, finding the Swiss Army knife in his uncle’s front pocket, Harry began to cut the jacket off his uncle’s body.

His hands were shaking violently and his breath came out in quick, short gasps when he finally succeeded. He weakly tugged the jacket over to himself and wrapped it around his shoulders. Letting out a tired sigh when the wind stopped directly assaulting his body, Harry tried to assemble his thoughts.

He was stuck out in the middle of nowhere. His uncle had no idea where they were. He still had no idea why he had been brought out here. His uncle may have intended to abandon him out here to freeze to death, anyway. He didn’t think they had travelled very far from the last stop. He could attempt to backtrack on foot and try to get help. Trouble was he had no idea where back was.

Fearfully, Harry reached over and attempted to start the car. Maybe he could get the heat going. The engine sputtered weakly before a deafening crack echoed in the night and the hood of the car burst into intense flames. The wind sucked the flames back over and through the interior of the car. The blistering heat licked over Harry’s face and he pulled back with a cry. The material of the ceiling quickly ignited and singed the hair on the top of Harry’s head.

Harry hurried as best he could with his abused body, to escape from one extreme to the other. He tripped into the deep snow and crawled away from the burning vehicle. He settled down on his backside several years and numbly watched the fire completely engulf the car and his uncle’s body. Harry wanted to stay close to the warmth the fire was giving off, melting the surrounding snow, but he knew the remaining gas in the vehicle could very easily cause an explosion.

Struggling back to his feet, Harry turned from the fire and laboriously dragged himself through the snow until he convinced himself he was at a safe distance. Unsure what to do now, Harry sat panting in the snow. He pulled the coat closer to himself and trying to recover from the amount of pain the accident and the escape were causing his body. When the pain didn’t fade, Harry decided he needed to do something.

Harry desperately wished he had his wand on him, underage or not, he could cast warming charms or try to apparate himself to somewhere familiar. He could even attempt to cast the healing charms he’d seen Madam Pomfrey perform throughout the years. But he was wandless, trapped in a terrible snowstorm, and his only option was to get walking.

He wanted to wait until morning or until the snow storm slowed so he could at least see where he was heading. Taking in the burning vehicle’s position, Harry started to slowly walk in the opposite direction. He badly hoped that the car had not been turned around in the accident and that he would be heading in the right direction. 

Harry slowly made his way, blinded by the snow. Walking was difficult, having to lift his legs above the heavy 3 feet of snow with every step he took. He only walked for 5 minutes before he came to a steep incline. Remembering the feeling of weightlessness during the accident, Harry let out a trembling smile. If he could make it up this hill, he’d be back on the road. From there, following it back the way they had come should be easier.

He kept falling forward and catching himself with his hands. His hands were so cold it was painful. The wet snow melting into his low body heat left his hands soaked and hurting terribly in the wind. His thighs and calves were stinging underneath thin wet pants. He was glad he wore one of his thicker sweatpants that morning though it didn’t seem to help all that much at the moment.

His cheeks stung and his eyes felt icy, pained tears frozen in the corners of his eyes. Snot was frozen on his painfully chapped upper lip and he couldn’t feel his ears any longer. He brought up the hood of his sweatshirt and the hood of the jacket. Pulling the drawstrings tight, his head and ears were no longer exposed to the frigid winds. Pulling his hands into the jacket sleeves to hide them from the wind, Harry continued forward.

He fell forward at least a dozen times, each time getting harder to get back up, but he finally made it to a flat surface. Leaning against a nearby tree, Harry shakily caught his breath. The cold was sucked into his lungs, broken ribs protesting in suffering as he tried to calm himself. His teeth were chattering so violently that he was worried that he would chip them.

Pushing himself up weakly, Harry began forward. Coming to a sudden large pile of snow, Harry shakily pulled himself over it. He tumbled over the top and rolled down the other side. Landing with a thump, Harry let out a pained cry that grew into gasping sobs. He was so tired. His body hurt so much. The fall had done nothing good for his ribs, a now sharp tearing pain coming from the region of his left lung. Breathing was more difficult than it had been the last 30 minutes.

Harry had to convince himself to stand back up, still sobbing. The sharp stabbing pain in his cheek became worse as his tears froze to his face. He could see the ice that had formed on his eyelashes.

The ground he stood on didn’t quite have the same amount of snow as the area up to this point. Hopeful, Harry realized he had reached the ploughed road. There was only a foot of snow so it was much easier to walk. Still, his damaged ribs and lung and his throbbing head kept his pace slower than he would have liked. He powered through the pain with the only thought on his mind being getting to that stop. Getting to that stop and getting help. Getting to that stop and eventually getting back to his friends. Getting to that stop and surviving.

He stumbled to his knees when he had wandered to the side of the road and collided with the ploughed snow. Whimpering into the wind, Harry struggled to get himself back to his feet.

The pain was starting to fade now and numbness started to set in. Harry’s mind was becoming fuzzy, and he had to constantly remind himself to keep going, to not give up.

Another 30 minutes passed and Harry’s condition had declined. He could hardly convince his legs to move forward in the snow. His eyes were heavy and his breathing was laboured and slow. He could no longer feel his face, still crying slightly, and he had lost feeling in his hands 20 minutes ago.

“Come ‘mon, ‘Arry,” he slurred, past the point of stuttering and chattering teeth. “Cmm’on...”

He stumbled aimlessly, occasionally bumping into the side of the road. He didn’t even know if he was heading in the right direction any more. His head hung low, bangs frozen to his forehead, not strong enough to try to hold it up any longer. His arms hung loosely by his side and his feet dragged through the resistant snow. He was fighting to keep his eyes opened and had to occasionally lock his knees so he wouldn’t collapse completely.

Stopping, Harry looked around listlessly. His whip-lashed neck rolled lazily along his chest, ignoring the pain it caused.

Left? Snow. Darkness and more snow. Right? Hmm, snow. Yeah, lots and lots of snow. Oh? What was that? Ah, darkness. Chuckling a little, Harry felt his lips crack open when he left out a small smile.

Rolling his head to the side slightly, Harry froze when he thought he saw a bright light in the distance. He just stood there, staring as the wind blew around him. Taking a stumbling step forward, Harry increased his pace until he was at a quick bumbling walk, the best he could manage. His body felt faint with relief and he was losing the fight to keep himself upright. 

He managed for a good 5 minutes more before he couldn’t continue any longer. His numb legs gave out beneath him as all his remaining energy left him. He could see the light, so close now as he lay on his stomach in the building snow.

Panting slowly, Harry tried to get back up. He tried so hard, but his arms refused to move. His legs didn’t even twitch. All he could do was try to catch his breath. He lay there staring blindly at the light. It was right there. He thought he could even make out the outline of a building.

Harry weakly laid his head down in the snow. He continued to stare at the light and he felt his mind becoming numb and so soul-deep tired that he couldn’t find any excuse to continue trying.

The sound of footsteps next to him was the last thing Harry heard before he finally gave in the warmth of sleep.

 

“Steve!” a man yelled to his co-worker when he arrived to work in the morning. The other continued to ignore him, headphones blocking out all sound but his music. He picked up a hunk of snow and chucked it at the other man.

“Hey, what the hell, man?” Steve yelled incensed when the snow slammed into his shoulder. He ripped off his headphones and stomped over to his co-worker. However, as he approached, the shattered look on David’s face caused worry to build in his gut. David was a happy-go-lucky person who rarely took anything seriously. The serious look on his face was quite alarming. Steve broke into a jog to reach his friend faster.

When he reached his friend, he looked at him worriedly. David looked about to throw up. Following his haunted stare, Steve closed his eyes and sucked in a breath.

There, half buried in the snow, was a young man, barely 16. He lay face down in the snow, a large torn down-stuffed jacket wrapped around his body. His black messy hair was caked together with hunks of snow and his face pale and peaceful. His forehead and face were caked with blood, chapped lips blue.

Wiping a weary hand over his face, Steve turned away, unable to look any longer. The lad had been so close. So close. Another 50 meters and he would have made it. They’d walked right passed him as they left work late last night.

“Oh God, Steve,” David gasped out,. “He was so close.”

“I know, Dave,” he closed his eyes. “I know.”

THE END


End file.
